


You're an Asshole (But I Love You)

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And Spray Bottles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Five Times Things, It Works Out About as Well as Possible, Literal Crack, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Nerf Guns are Involved, Peter Hale Ships It, Scott McCall is a puppy, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Tries to Train Derek, The Pack Ships It, slightly self indulgent, so is Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: 5 times Stiles tried to make Derek take care of himself, and the 1 time Derek realized that's what he was doing (because Stiles is an idiot and Derek is oblivious, surprise, surprise)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of 5+1 Things [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990429
Comments: 66
Kudos: 862
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	1. the one with the nerf gun

The thing is, Stiles knew Derek was an overprotective Alpha stalker who never slept.

He knew this because the werewolf spent most his time standing outside of the pack's houses instead of going to bed at night like a normal person. Or at least, Stiles assumed Derek did that to all the others. Because the Alpha did it to him _all the time_ and Stiles couldn’t be the only one. 

True, he did try to bring it up with the others once, only to have them all stare in confusion. But that’s not the point. The point is, Stiles knew Derek was an overprotective Alpha stalker, and he was determined to do everything possible to make him start taking care of himself. For once, at least.

It started with a nerf gun.

Stiles had a system. Deaton was training him to set up wards, so Stiles had surrounded his house with them the other day, making sure that if anyone other than him or his dad tried to cross the property boundary line, Stiles would know. 

This was convenient for many reasons. 

One, Stiles knew when the betas were coming to annoy him so he would _not_ be jerking off or watching porn (thank you very much, Erica). Two, he knew when Scott was coming with a video game or food so Stiles could be appropriately dressed (sweatpants, duh). And three, Stiles knew when Derek was being a creeper and standing outside of his window, all decked out in leather and looking like a serial killer, so he could make the Alpha go away. Or something.

Tonight, Derek was being a creeper. Stiles really wasn’t surprised.

Except tonight, Stiles was prepared.

Okay, so maybe it was juvenile. Scott had looked at Stiles like he was an idiot when Stiles loaded his nerf gun full of modified bullets. Which might really just be nerf shells filled with wolfsbane that werewolves were essentially allergic to. Scott thought it was a bad idea. Stiles thought it would finally make Derek _go home_. 

Scott vowed to say some nice things at his funeral.

Stiles peeked out his window to see, yes, Derek was there. Standing with his back to Stiles’s window like he was some sort of guard dog. Stiles rolled his eyes and lifted the nerf gun up, closing one eye and biting down on his lip like he was a secret agent with a mission rather than a seventeen-year-old shooting at a grumpy Alpha werewolf from the safety of his own home.

Allison always said Stiles had terrible aim. And he usually did, when it came to things that were actually dangerous. His dad thought it was part of Stiles’s spastic genes. He couldn’t shoot a gun to save his life but he was very well-aimed with a nerf gun. Stiles closed one eye, let out a deep breath, and pulled the trigger. Mission Impossible might have been playing in his head the entire time.

He ducked down the second the bullet hit the back of Derek's head.

Stiles heard a surprised grunt, grinned to himself, and peeked over to see Derek leaning down to pick the bullet up. The werewolf brought it to his face and just stared at it for a second. Then, Derek finally tilted his head, sniffed the bullet (Stiles nearly snorted out loud at that), and reeled back, dropping it into the grass with an alarmed expression

Grey-green eyes snapped up to his window. Stiles squeaked, startled back, and then hesitated. Changing his mind, he moved forward instead and brought the gun up again, pulling the trigger and nailing Derek in the forehead. Derek jerked back and his eyes turned red.

_“Stiles!”_

“Go home, Sourwolf!” Stiles shouted, firing again. Derek cursed as he tried to dodge the bullet. “Get some sleep!”

“Stiles, stop it!”

Stiles cackled and unloaded the bullets as fast as he could, watching Derek growl as he tried to avoid being hit. For the first few minutes, Stiles was on fire. But then suddenly, his trigger finger was pulling at nothing and Stiles looked down, realizing the gun was empty. His stomach dropped and he glanced back up.

Derek's gaze was murderous. Eyes still red, the werewolf started toward the house and Stiles yelped, leaping forward to slam the window shut. He turned the lock and lined the sill with mountain ash, right as Derek pulled himself up.

The werewolf crouched in front of his window, rubbing at his hands and cheeks that were turning an itchy shade of red, and tried to lift the window up. Only to growl and yank back. Stiles grinned at him, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic hello.

“Why good evening, oh Alpha mine!”

“Stiles,” Derek growled, voice muffled by the window. He scratched at his hands again. “What the hell was in those bullets?”

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles said. Derek’s eyes instantly flashed, fangs slotting down, and Stiles yelped, stumbling back. “Woah, relax, Sourwolf, it’s not deadly! Just… an allergen?”

“Stiles, I’m going to kill you.”

“Good luck with that,” Stiles said, winking at him. “I am safe and sound in my own house, you Grump, and all the exits are lined with mountain ash. So go stalk Scott! Or better yet, Sourwolf, get some sleep. None of us need a sleep-deprived Alpha on our hands.”

“I’m not stalking you, Stiles,” Derek growled. “I’m keeping watch.”

Stiles gave him a flat look. “Go. Sleep.”

Derek glowered and pointed toward the window lock instead, mouthing the word _'now'._ Rolling his eyes, Stiles shook his head and turned pointedly around. He heard Derek snarl his name again but only waved a hand over his shoulder, going to deposit the nerf gun back on his desk.

Scott had been wrong. This was a great idea.

Because when he turned back around, Derek was gone. Stiles snorted and gazed out his window, seeing an empty lawn beyond it. Humming to himself, Stiles turned away.

“And that’s how you do it,” he said. “Stiles and his privacy: achieved. Derek and finally getting a good night’s sleep: he freaking better.”

Cause, yeah, Derek freaking better. The idiot deserved a good night of sleep for once, even though it seemed like he was literally trying to deprive himself of one on purpose. He probably was, if Stiles was being honest. But he was determined— Stiles was going to change that. He was going to make Derek freaking Hale take care of himself for once.

Stiles had many more plans.


	2. the one with the spray bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't smart, Derek's not having it, and Peter is amused.

Stiles had a spray bottle. And he had it for reasons.

At first, those reasons were not to use it on a werewolf, especially not an Alpha werewolf, but Stiles rarely ever did anything good for his health. He had the spray bottle for normal reasons— whatever normal reasons were. Probably not spraying Alpha werewolves whenever they did something self-deprecating, but that’s how it ended up getting used. Stiles wasn’t even bothered by this change.

Derek was.

Stiles lounged on the couch, his trusty spray bottle at his side and his laptop propped up on his knees. He was doing his best to ignore Peter, who sat across from him, focusing hard on the assignment due in two hours. One he hadn’t even started. 

But then Derek came into the room.

“Ah, Alpha oh my Alpha,” Stiles said, assignment forgotten as he sat up. Derek looked at him flatly and Stiles grinned, wiggling his fingers through the air. “How are you doing on this fine day?”

Derek didn’t even answer, rolling his eyes and starting past. Stiles slipped out the spray bottle discretely and pulled the trigger as Derek got withing range. A thin mist of cold water blasted the Alpha in the face and Derek grunted in surprise, stumbling back.

_ “Stiles!” _

“Oops,” Stiles said, grinning. “I didn’t know it did that.”

“What the hell was that for?”

“You look upset. Wanna talk about it?”

“I’m going to rip your head off.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose and lifted the bottle up again, spraying Derek in the face once more. Derek snarled and leaped forward, trying to rip the bottle from his grip, and Stiles yelped. His laptop slid off his knees as he jumped up, stumbling back. He put the couch between him and Derek as the Alpha growled, eyes flashing red.

“Give me that.”

“Give you what?”

“Stiles!”

Derek moved around the couch with unfair speed and Stiles squawked, taking off in the other direction. At some point, Peter ended up between them, but he didn’t even look up from his book. Derek crossed his arms and scowled, eyes still a vibrant shade of red. If looks could kill, Stiles would probably be dead right now. 

“Give me the spray bottle, Stiles.”

“No, it’s my spray bottle!”

Derek started to move to one side, so Stiles started in the other. Growling in frustration, Derek stopped again and just glared at him. Peter finally looked lazily up. “What the hell are you two doing?”

“Shut up,” Derek snapped. Stiles grinned.

“I’m in the middle of an experiment.”

Peter twisted his head so he could look at Stiles’s face, looking a little curious. Derek still looked homicidal. But that was also a normal Monday. “An experiment?”

“Yes,” Stiles said, grinning. “Is it possible to train the local Alpha to smile more?”

Peter snorted, looking back at Derek. Derek’s ears were bright red.

“It would be possible,” the Alpha growled. “If I could crush that bottle underneath my foot and rip your throat out at the same time.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, shuddering at that image. “Current observation: I should’ve gone with something other than a spray bottle and maybe carried some mountain ash on my person.”

“I think it’s a dud experiment,” Peter drawled. “No offense, Stiles.”

“Much offense taken, jerkface, go back to your book.”

Peter shrugged and did so, acting as if they weren’t even there. Derek was looked at Stiles like he was his next meal (which shouldn’t be that hot, dammit) and Stiles squeaked as he suddenly moved again. This time, Stiles only made it through the kitchen and back out into the main room again when he was driven to the floor, hitting with a pained  _ ‘oomph’.  _ Derek flipped him over and wrestled the spray bottle from his grip, even as Stiles struggled.

“Derek, you asshole, I paid three dollars for that!”

Derek ignored him, face screwed up in concentration as he started uncapping the lid. Stiles’s eyes rounded as he realized the werewolf’s plan and he struggled harder. But Derek only smirked, succeeding in pulling it off, and looked down at Stiles with a triumphant expression before turning the bottle upside down and emptying its remnants over Stiles’s face.

Stiles spluttered and tried to shy away from the sudden waterfall of cold water (he’d put ice in there, goddammit) but Derek made sure he shook every drop out before letting the bottle fall onto Stiles’s face, smirking wider when it bounced off and he yelped in protest.

“Ouch, you asshole!”

“Should’ve invested in that mountain ash,” Peter called over. Stiles managed to rip one arm free and flipped him the bird. Derek snorted and pushed himself up, not even offering a hand.

“Next time,” Derek said, turning away. “I’ll do something worse.”

“I was just trying to ask how your day’s been, Sourwolf!”

Derek threw a feral grin over his shoulder and hesitated at the kitchen doorway. He thought for a moment, the shrugged. “It’s better now.”

Stiles crossed his arms and glared as he vanished. Peter cast an amused, maybe even a little disturbed, look between them and Stiles huffed, turning toward the door. He was wet and shivering, and this plan was starting to go downhill. Why was training an Alpha werewolf so hard?

“One day,” he muttered. “I’m gonna train your little wolfy ass to be happy. Just you wait.”

Stiles thought he heard a sudden clatter from the kitchen, followed by a curse. But he was already halfway out the door and slamming it behind him. Scowling, he stamped toward the elevator.

_ Just you wait. _


	3. the one with the reward system

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles changes tactics, Derek won't admit his sweet tooth, and the pack things they're idiots.

Stiles realized it was time to adjust his plan. Scott didn’t understand.

“Wait, we’re talking about Derek here?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, scrounging around for a pen. Somehow, during an afternoon of video games and junk food, Stiles had gotten a brilliant idea. And it was too good to brush off for later, plus, he knew he’d forget. “Positive rewards lead to positive actions, right? Therefore, a positive Derek leads to a positive pack, which lead to your best friend getting shoved into fewer walls and—”

“But why do you even care?” Scott asked, looking confused. “I mean… Derek’s sleep schedule? His attitude? That’s just Derek.”

Stiles screwed up his face, not wanting to focus too hard on that loaded question. The answer should be a simple easy;  _ ‘what? I don’t care’  _ but Stiles was kind of a terrible liar. It wasn’t like this was about the crush he’d been harboring on the asshole since sophomore year. And it certainly wasn’t because Derek being grumpy and sad all the time literally made  _ Stiles  _ grumpy and sad. It wasn’t because of that. Totally. 

“He’s our Alpha,” Stiles said, shrugging. “Do you really want a sleep-deprived Derek on your hands in the middle of a fight?”

“I mean, I guess not,” Scott said, still not looking convinced. His puppy eyes crinkled. “But why do you care about him being grumpy all the time?”

“Oh, Scotty, come on,” Stiles said, patting him on the arm. “Grumpy Derek? Grumpy Derek isn’t good for anyone. Whether we’re in a fight or not.”

Scott looked at him with a constipated expression. Stiles felt his face turn hot and tried to quell that reaction— knowing well enough that Scott used his super-sniffer for the most inappropriate things— and returned to working on his newest plan. A reward system of his own devising. Scott shuffled across the room to read over his shoulder. It was a list of (so far) three things.

  1. Compliments
  2. Chocolate
  3. Hard candy
  4. Head pats? Belly rubs??



“Stiles,” Scott said seriously. “Please don’t give Derek a belly rub.”

“Ugh, you’re right. I do want to keep my hand,” Stiles said, crossing off that part of the number. “Wait, hold up, dude, werewolves can eat chocolate, right? You won’t, like, die or something, will you?”

“Stiles, we just ate three packages of Reeses.”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, considering the list again. He scrunched up his nose, but couldn’t decide if there was anything else to add. Derek Hale— what did he like other than the silence and shoving Stiles up against walls? Scott looked disturbed and moved away, plopping back down on the edge of his bed. Stiles rubbed at his face and crossed off  _ ‘head pats’  _ too. Cause he really did like keeping his hands.

“I’m just saying, dude,” Scott said. “This is a lot like the Lydia ten year plan.”

“I had to bump that one up a lot longer than ten years,” Stiles said morosely. “I think when it ended I was on thirty or so. But dude, growing old with Lydia Martin? That would’ve been the dream.”

“Wait,” Scott said. “What do you mean, when it ended?”

Stiles stiffened. He stared straight ahead at the wall for a second, debating his options, and then shrugged. “Um, I’ve matured and moved on?”

“Moved on to…?”

Stiles winced. Scott made a dying-cat noise.

_ “Derek?” _

“Shut up, dude,” Stiles groused, glaring back down at his list. Derek might be all the way across town but hell if Stiles didn’t trust werewolf hearing. And Derek always seemed to be around the corner or something. “Don’t judge me. Who isn’t attracted to that wall of muscles?”

“I’m not!”

Stiles turned to look at him. “Scotty, Allison will always be the only one you ever have eyes for. We all know this. Trust me, when I say I know you’ll never be attracted to all that is Derek Hale.”

Scott made a gagging noise. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Though that sucks for you. I mean, not literally, but—”

_ “Stiles!” _

* * *

Stiles wore his oversized hoodie, if only so he could fit a bunch of hard candies in his pockets. He showed up to the pack meeting a little early, like usual, and found his favorite spot on the couch. Peter was still around, sadly, but Stiles was hoping he’d have forgotten the incident from a few weeks ago. 

He was never very lucky.

“So,” Peter said, still looking down at his book. “How’s your experiment going?”

Stiles grimaced.  _ Dammit.  _

“You know,” Peter said conversationally. “Derek would eat his own hand before admitting he has a sweet tooth. Unless you brought all that candy for another Hale.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Stiles grumbled, turning away. His pockets made crinkly noises when he did. Peter chuckled and Stiles’s face burned.

Derek came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands off on a hand towel, and promptly scowled when he saw Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes and put on a cheeky smile. “Good evening, Sourwolf, care for a hard candy?”

Derek narrowed his eyes and stared. Stiles dug one out of his pocket and dangled it through the air. 

“Huh? Huh?”

“Stiles, you’re going to give yourself cavities.”

Stiles deflated, glaring at him. “Well, that kind of attitude isn’t going to get you anything sweet.”

“Okay.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles groaned, sitting up on the couch. “Derek, I swear to god, you can’t live off of spinach and protein shakes. It’s not good for a growing werewolf.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Derek said flatly. “I’m pretty sure I’m not growing anymore.”

“Do you know what spinach does to your insides? It turns them green!”

“That’s not what happens.”

Stiles huffed and lobbed the hard candy across the room, grinning at it bounced off of Derek’s head. The werewolf’s eyes sparked red for a second and he straightened, glaring. 

“Stiles, seriously?”

“Eat the candy,” Stiles said, pulling another out of his pocket and throwing it at his chest this time. Derek growled. “Eat the candy, you asshole!”

“Stiles, you’re making a mess.”

“Nobody likes spinach!” Stiles shouted. “Least of all meat-eating werewolves!”

“Stiles, I’m going to shove these down your throat.”

“Jokes on you, I’ve already eaten two bags!”

Derek growled and started toward him and Stiles scrambled back, toppling off the couch. He hit the floor with a grunt and grabbed the closest throw pillow, swinging it through the air as Derek stalked toward him. The werewolf caught it with one hand and to pull it away, but Stiles held on tight, kicking up a storm as he was dragged halfway across the loft. 

Suddenly, the door slid open. Stiles froze as the rest of the pack filed in and Derek let go of the pillow as they all stopped, ignoring Stiles’s squawk as he dropped back down to the floor. The Alpha straightened and Stiles laid there, the room spinning a little. The entire pack stared.

“Okay,” Lydia said. “What the hell?”

“Stiles, honey,” Erica said. “You left a trail of hard candy.”

Stiles lifted his head to glance up. There was one indeed. Moving away from Scott’s side, Isaac started forward with a happy expression and started picking them up, and Stiles dropped his head back to the floor with a groan. Derek stalked back toward the kitchen.  _ Goddammit. _

Stiles was so bad at this.


	4. the one with the positive affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles stays positive, Derek doesn't understand, and multicolored sticky notes are the result.

Derek was a grumpy grump who grumped, Stiles decided. And the damn werewolf needed a bit of positivity in his life. 

So Stiles started carrying around sticky notes, a pen, and a sheet of stickers. When Jackson gave him a judgemental look, Stiles stuck his tongue out and ignored the beta for the rest of the day. He didn’t need anyone telling him he was an idiot; Stiles knew that. But he was a determined idiot.

The first note simply stated: 

_‘A failwolf, you are not’_

_\- Yoda (probably)_

Stiles put it on the top of Derek’s take-out container when he came by after morning training with breakfast. He then proceeded to plop down on one of the stools and watch as Derek pulled it off, stared for a long moment, and then shot him a confused look. Stiles grinned a winked.

Derek rolled his eyes and turned away, but he took the note with him. Stiles considered that a win, digging into his own breakfast.

This just might work.

He left a few stickers here and there, but waited three more days before sticking a second official note on top of Derek’s favorite Hemingway book, leaving it on the coffee table where it’d be seen. Mostly, Stiles had been inspired by Derek’s attempted snarl earlier. Because of one reason.

_‘Dude, the bunny teeth. They’re not that scary.’_

Stiles was pretty proud of that one. He’d told Scott before that no one appreciated Derek’s bunny teeth enough and while he’d gotten a confused look for that, it was true. Not only did the werewolf not smile nearly enough, but it was utterly adorable when he did. Or even when Derek snarled. He couldn’t be that terrifying with teeth like that.

Except later that night, Stiles got a text message from Derek showing a picture of the note, followed by three question marks and then a ‘Stiles, what’s wrong with you’. Stiles stared at the message for a moment and then scowled at his phone, turning it back off and refusing to even answer.

Derek was an asshole. Stiles was fine, nothing was wrong with him. The teeth _weren’t_ that scary and Derek could suck it up. Stiles wasn’t stopping.

He started leaving notes daily and putting stickers u everywhere else; on the walls, fridge, doors, furniture.

_‘Only shoved me into a wall once this week, Sourpuss. Good job!’_

_‘ :) ’_

_‘I think Isaac’s in love with you. In a totally platonic, ‘you’re my dad!’ kind of way.’_

_‘Good job not dying today, Sourwolf. We appreciate it.’_

_‘Next time Peter says something rude, just kill him again. I’ll swallow my pride and harbor your fugitive ass.’_

_‘Eat some pizza. It’s good for you.’_

_‘10/10 thought you were going to murder Jackson today. Good job resisting.’_

Stiles thought things were going well for about a week. But then on a Friday afternoon, when he was scrounging around Derek’s kitchen looking for something to eat, he found a small plastic trash bag shoved underneath the sink. Pulling it out, Stiles stared at the multi-colored contents in confusion and then realized they were his _notes._

Stiles blinked. Then he growled, shoving himself up. “Derek!”

The loft was silent. Stiles turned on his heel and started through it, stalking past a confused looking Isaac and flipping off a smirking Peter. He found Derek coming out of his room with mussed up hair and a tired look on his face. Stiles jabbed a finger into the werewolf’s chest and pushed him back into the room, slamming the door behind them. Derek blinked a few times, looking at Stiles wearily.

“What, Stiles?”

“You, my friend, are a complete and utter asshole. You know that? You are!”

Derek stared in silence. Stiles shoved the bag in his face. 

“I am adorable, Derek, adorable! I am affirming you positively! And I don’t appreciate you disregarding my attempts!”

“Then stop attempting,” Derek said, looking at him flatly. Stiles scowled and dropped the bag to the floor, pulling the pad of sticky notes out of his pocket. He turned away, scrawled out a quick note, then turned back around and stuck it to Derek’s forehead. Before Derek could react, he was stalking back out of the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. 

_'MAKE ME YOU ASSBUTT’_

Stiles was determined. And Derek could suck it, because everything to this point was nothing compared to what was coming.

* * *

Derek crawled through his window the next day. 

It was only a little after seven in the morning, but Stiles knew Derek woke up early to swallow some protein powder and workout his amazing ab muscles, so he was ready and fully expecting the visit. For reasons. Good reasons.

Derek clearly didn’t think so, glaring at him with his arms crossed. “Stiles, I'm going to kill you.”

“Ah, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, turning his desk chair with a grin. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin on top of them. “What can I do for you today?”

“What the hell did you do to my loft.”

“Um,” Stiles said, pulling an innocent face. “Come again? I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Stiles,” Derek snarled, stalking across the room. It looked like he’d woken up, come face to face with Stiles’s art, and then promptly thrown on an old t-shirt and rumpled pair of sweats before coming here. His hair stuck up in all directions. “The walls are covered in sticky notes and stickers. Everything is.

“Actually, not all the notes are sticky,” Stiles said, smirking. “Some of them are glued.”

_“Stiles.”_

“I trust you’ll find they are all positive quotes ranging from Disney movies to random things I found on the internet. Except for Peter’s, but he’ll understand which are which. Tell him those are both a message and a threat, and I do own a baseball bat. Oh, and tell Isaac the Winnie the Pooh quotes are all his.”

“I’m not telling them anything,” Derek said, his eyes flashing. “Stiles, you are going back to clean them up.”

“Quite on the contrary,” Stiles said. “I have an assignment for Harris that I’ve been pretending doesn’t exist until now. Consider this a gentle reminder that if your prized researcher fails out of high school, my dad will kill me and then you won’t have anyone to save your furry little ass anymore.”

Derek stared at him for a long moment. Stiles picked up the last remaining sticky note off his desk and put it on his own forehead, smiling as Derek read it. The Alpha’s face turned constipated and he growled. 

Then, without another word, Derek turned away and climbed back out the window, leaving Stiles in the silence. Stiles huffed to himself and pulled the note back off, sticking it against his wall. He felt like that was a win. Or something.

_‘Don’t be such a Sourwolf’_


	5. the one with the soft approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles decides to try something new, Derek doesn't like it, and feelings ensue.

So Stiles had attempted to take Derek’s sleeping habits, attitude problems, and crappy lifestyle into his own hands. But things had been rocky so far and he was starting to wonder if he was going about it all in the wrong way.

Not to mention, the others had started to notice.

Or at least, Lydia had.

She cornered him after a pack meeting one day and crossed her arms, green eyes glittering with challenge. Stiles swallowed, knowing from experience that the expression meant she wanted something and he wasn’t going to get away without spilling his guts out. And quite possibly, his soul.

“Lydia, oh goddess of mine,” Stiles said, attempting a grin. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Derek,” Lydia said. “Spill.”

“Uh, that old grumpy growly asshole? Yeah, I guess he’s alright.”

“Stiles, I swear to god—”

Stiles winced, shying away from her narrow-eyed gaze. He searched the parking lot but the others had already taken off and he was left alone. Of course, he was. Stiles never had the best of luck. “Do we have to do this now?” He asked, trying to sound pitiful. “Annoying Alphas and their creeptastic uncles are only a building away.”

“They can’t hear us,” Lydia said. When Stiles raised a brow, she shrugged. “I made Jackson tell me how far his hearing goes so I know how long I can yell at him when he’s acting like a douchebag and walking away.”

“Smart,” Stiles said. “Let me tell you what, forget Derek and let’s keep talking about Jackson instead.”

Lydia glared at him. “Now I know you’re hiding something.”

“Me? Hiding something? I’m never hiding something,” Stiles defended. “I’m like an open book, Lyds, you know me.”

She hummed. “I do. Which is why I know there are things you’re keeping secret right now. Do you want to know something, Stiles?”

“No, I think I’m good. But you could text it to me later?”

“You’re a lover,” Lydia said flatly, and when he squawked, she rolled her eyes. “When you latch onto something, you give it everything you are. Do you remember that time you emptied your bank account for my birthday?”

Stiles flushed. “That was a heat of the moment kind of decision.”

“Because you’re a heat of the moment kind of guy.”

Stiles clenched his jaw and felt his face go hot. Lydia’s eyes softened and she touched his face gently. Her fingers were a little cold, but they were also comforting. Lydia tilted her head, strawberry-blonde hair falling over one shoulder, and sighed.

“It’s not a bad thing, Stiles. But whoever falls in love with you shouldn’t do it because you’ve devoted your entire existence to them. They need to love you for who you are, not who you’re trying to be.”

“I’m not trying to get Derek to fall in love with me,” Stiles mumbled. “I’m just trying to make him happy.”

Lydia’s smile was soft. “And that’s what makes you a lover.”

Stiles swallowed quietly.

Lydia smiled at him one more time before turning away, fingers leaving Stiles’s face with the ghost of a comforting touch. He sighed and gazed after her, watching strands of strawberry-blonde hair move back and forth with the faint breeze. Shaking his head, Stiles turned away too.

He thought he saw a flash of red eyes from the loft window above. But he couldn’t be sure.

* * *

So, Stiles decided to tone it down a little bit. No more nerf guns, no more spray bottles, no more hard candy projectiles, or multi-colored sticky notes. Derek had threatened to kill or disembowel him enough times that Stiles decided to test something new; keeping his distance. Stiles knew well enough he was often the cause of Derek’s growls and grumps, so maybe some distance would do them both good.

He hated it. 

The first few days were torture and the next week and a half was boring. Stiles threw himself into pack researching and studying for upcoming finals now that he wasn’t trying to… bother? (woo?) annoy the crap out of? Derek anymore. Or whatever.

Stiles was avoiding the loft and he hated every moment of it. But he’d made a decision and he was going to stick with it. Because if Derek was better off the next time Stiles saw him— if Derek was doing fine without his annoying self around— then Stiles would suck it up. He could do that for the pack. Because this was all totally for the pack. And all that jazz.

Stiles only went to the pack meetings every Friday. Normally, he would drop by to do homework, try to drive Peter mad again, or just to be there around the rest of the pack— Derek— whatever. Stiles had gotten used to not being alone all the time and he liked having someone to talk to, even if he knew they weren’t really listening. It was better than talking to thin air and trying to pretend he wasn’t crazy.

But Stiles was determined. And one week turned into two, into three. Then it was Friday again and that meant yet another pack meeting. Joy.

Except this time, when Stiles showed up for the pack meeting, something was different.

He wasn’t early, he knew that. Stiles had stopped doing that too, either showing up right on time or a little bit late. But the moment he stepped through the door today, Stiles realized the loft was very empty. No pack, no Peter, no nobody.

Wait, no, there was somebody. A very fast-moving, red-eyed Alpha werewolf that caught him by the neck of his shirt and dragged him into the loft. Stiles yelped and started to struggle, sure Derek had lost his mind or something was wrong, and Stiles was about to become Alpha dinner, when suddenly, the hand let go again. He stumbled back, panting.

“Derek, what the hell? What’s wrong with you?” Stiles blinked and froze. “Oh my god, are you dying? Are you feral? Should I be running away right now?”

“Me?” Derek demanded. “What’s wrong with you, Stiles? Why have you been lately?”

“Um,” Stiles stared at him. Instead of answering the question, he glanced around the loft and swallowed nervously. “I thought there was a pack meeting tonight? Did I miss a text message or something?”

“I canceled it,” Derek said flatly. “Because you’re acting weird.”

“... Me?”

“Yes, Stiles, dammit! You!”

“Okay, okay!” Stiles said, throwing his hands up and moving back. His heart was thudding against his chest hard enough, Derek had to be hearing it. But the Alpha was just looking at him furiously. Like Stiles had kicked his puppy or something. “I’ve just been giving you space.”

_ “What?” _

“I’ve come to the realization that I’ve been a bit… extreme? These past few weeks,” Stiles said, scratching at the back of his head. His face burned hot. “So I decided to back off a little. You know, not shoot you with nerf gun bullets or fill your apartment up with sticky notes or anything.”

Derek stared at him. Stiles swallowed and dropped his gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry about all of that, by the way.”

“Why.”

“Um,” Stiles looked at him in confusion. “What do you mean, why?”

“I mean why,” Derek said. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because I’ve been doing idiotic stunts that drive you mad for the past four weeks or so?”

Derek looked at him with a constipated expression on his face. For a second, Stiles thought he was going to get slammed into a wall, or maybe just punched in the face. Cause he’d finally admitted it. He’d been annoying the crap out of Derek for a month now and it’d all been on purpose.

But then Derek turned around and marched across the room, heading toward the bookshelf. Stiles watched in confusion as he pulled out his favorite Hemingway book, reached behind it, and tugged out a small bag. Narrowing his eyes, Stiles realized he  _ recognized  _ the bag. It was the same one he’d found underneath the sink.  It was the one full of every single sticky note he’d written. 

Stiles’s jaw dropped as Derek turned back toward him, stalking over again and shoving the bag into his chest.

“If that’s what you were doing, then you can have these back.”

Stiles blinked and almost dropped it. Derek looked like he was about to say something else, but then he clenched his jaw and looked angry instead. Stiles didn’t know how to react to that, as Derek turned away. 

“Go home, Stiles.”

But Stiles didn’t move. He just stood there and stared, the words slowly sinking in. Hitting him like a punch to the gut. Stiles finally let the bag drop to the floor. “Derek, what did you think I was doing?”

Derek went rigid. He wouldn’t look at him.

“Derek,” Stiles said, taking a slow step forward. “Why were you hiding the sticky notes?”

“Because the last time you came across them, you acted like the world was ending,” Derek growled out. Stiles swallowed.

“But you kept them?”

“Of course, I kept them,” Derek said darkly. “Why would I throw them away?”

“Cause they were stupid?”

Derek finally rounded on him. “They weren’t stupid,” he said, eyes flashing red. Stiles moved backward again and Derek looked sharply away, growling. “I didn’t think they were stupid.”

“What did you think?” Stiles asked quietly. Derek’s shoulders slumped.

“Go home, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t. He stepped forward and studied Derek’s face, his heart pounding against his chest. Derek tensed a little more with each step, but soon, Stiles was in front of him again. He licked his lips nervously. “I wasn’t trying to annoy you, Derek.”

Grey-green eyes met his incredulously. Stiles flushed.

“Okay, maybe I was a little. But that was just a package deal. It came with it all, you know?”

“Came with what?”

“Um,” Stiles said intelligently, avoiding his eyes. “My experiment?”

“What kind of experiment, Stiles?”

Stiles looked back at Derek, who watched him carefully. Maybe even a little anxiously. He shrugged and offered a small grin. “Is it possible to train the local Alpha to smile more?”

Derek’s eyes flickered. One second they were green, the next they weren’t, and then Derek ducked his head, the color going all the way to the tips of his ears. Stiles could’ve sworn there was a tug at the corners of his lips. “Stiles, you’re an idiot.”

“I get that a lot,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I’ve also been told when I latch onto something, I give it everything I am. I’m easily distracted and apparently have a tendency to fixated on things.”

“Is that what this is, then? A distraction?”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling back a little. “Derek, you absolute idiot, of course not. Seriously, dude, the last time I was in love, it was a lot less of a distraction and a lot more of a ‘ten-year-plan’ and 'what our wedding would look like', kind of thing. So feel free to offer Lydia your condolences.”

But Derek was just staring at him. Stiles arched a brow, rethought over his words again, and then froze. His heart skipped a beat and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Oh, shit, Derek—”

“You’re in love with me?”

Stiles dropped his eyes to the floor. The bag of sticky notes was forgotten underneath Derek’s foot and Stiles felt like that was appropriate. Because Derek was never going to be able to look him in the eye again after this. “I can totally stop,” he said. “Being in love with you, I mean. I figured it out with Lydia. You know, just don’t rip my throat out and give me a few years or something—”

“Stiles,” Derek said quietly. Stiles winced and looked up at him.

“I’m sorry, Derek. Really, I am.”

“Why?”

“W-why?” Stiles stared. “Like, why, why? Do you seriously want me to go into it, Derek? Cause that’s really an asshole move—”

“I mean,” Derek said. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Do I seriously need to spell it out?”

Derek rolled his eyes. He stepped forward and Stiles’s heart did something weird in his chest. Like a mini heart attack or something. Something better, actually. “Current observation,” Derek said, gentle fingers tilting his chin up. “You should’ve gone with that in the first place.”

Stiles didn’t even have a chance to complain when the Alpha kissed him.


	6. +1. the one with the father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is triumphant, Derek is happy, and the Sheriff steps into it all.

Stiles was watching the TV screen, but he wasn’t actually paying attention to it. His focus was more on the giant lump of Alpha werewolf pressed up against him, one arm slung over his shoulder as they lounged on the couch. Derek had come over the moment his dad had left, crawling in through his window even though Stiles insisted his dad didn’t want to shoot Derek anymore (probably) and they couldn’t do this forever. Derek wasn’t so convinced.

“He’s not going to hate you,” Stiles said, half-watching an explosion light up the screen. “He’ll probably just buy some more wolfsbane bullets, threaten to put a few in your head, and then invite you over for a steak dinner.”

“Not much of that sentence was very comforting, Stiles.”

“I’m just saying,” Stiles said, turning to look at the werewolf. “I think if he hears how I wooed the big bad Alpha of Beacon Hills with a nerf gun, spray bottle, hard candies, and package of sticky notes, he’d be more impressed than angry.”

“I wasn’t wooed,” Derek said grumpily. “I still wanted to wring your neck.”

“But in a sexy way, right?”

Derek closed his eyes for a long moment. “Oh my god, Stiles.”

“It was totally in a sexy way.”

“Was it really?”

Stiles squawked and leaped up off the couch, spinning around. Derek was at his side in a second, looking like a deer caught in headlights. The Sheriff stood in the doorway of the house, keys dangling from his fingers as he looked at them. Stiles gaped for a second, mouth opening and closing, before he looked at Derek, elbowing him in the side. “Dude! How did you not hear my dad coming back?”

Derek just stood shock-still. His eyes were round and his face was pale and he didn’t say a word, just stood there. In the doorway, his dad sighed.

“Don’t have a heart attack there, son. Derek. Can you talk?”

Derek nodded silently. Stiles sighed and facepalmed, turning back to his dad with a small smile. “Um, so dad, how long have you been standing—”

“Long enough.”

“And if I told you Derek was just here to—”

“Don’t even.”

Stiles scrunched up his face. “Dammit.”

The Sheriff looked between then and then rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. He hung his keys up next to the door and kicked off his boots, jerking his head toward the TV. “Stiles, turn that off and go pull out the steaks. Derek, can I show you something in the garage?”

“Da-aad,” Stiles complained, giving him a piteous look. Derek had gone stiff and the Sheriff gave them both an unimpressed look. 

“You laid down the plan five minutes ago, Stiles. Would you prefer I go to Chris Argent for advice instead?”

“Mr. Argent actually doesn’t actively want to kill Derek anymore, so—”

“Stiles. Steaks, now.”

Stiles groaned. He looked back at Derek a little bit worriedly, but the werewolf was still breathing at least. He poked him in the arm instead. “Hey, Der? You gonna be good?”

Derek nodded. Stiles grimaced and shot his dad a warning look before flipping the TV off and stumbling toward the kitchen. The Sheriff crossed his arms, looking at Derek. 

“So you and my son.”

“I wouldn’t hurt him,” Derek said suddenly. Then he winced. “Sir.”

The Sheriff’s face softened. He nodded his head toward the garage door and Derek followed with heavy feet, wondering if he really was going to get three bullets in the head. He couldn’t read anything off of the Sheriff’s heartbeats. It was kind of terrifying.

Stiles peeked out from the kitchen as they passed. He gave Derek a reassuring smile, but Derek could only look helplessly back. The Sheriff let him into the garage first.

Derek expected to see a line of guns waiting. Or at least a rifle or two. 

But he was surprised to see a whiteboard instead, covered in lines of blue, yellow, and green. There was a spool of red beside it, but it hadn’t been used. In the corner was the sticky note reading; _‘Don’t be such a Sourwolf’_ with a smiley-face sticker beside it.

Derek dropped his gaze, turning red. At his side, the Sheriff studied the board, sighing.

“There was a little boy I saw once,” the Sheriff said. “A little boy sitting beside his older sister in the back of my cruiser, both covered in dirt and ash. Two innocent kids who’d just lost their entire family.”

Derek flinched. His throat closed tight.

“Those were two kids I considered taking into my home,” the Sheriff said. “I even got the paperwork, except when I got back to the station, they were gone. Left town. Only stuck around long enough to give a statement.”

“Laura was scared Kate would come back,” Derek said quietly. “ To finish the job. She didn’t want to put anyone else at risk.”

“I get that,” the Sheriff said, turning toward him. “But look, Derek. Stiles is my son. He’s Claudia’s little boy. I’d kill anyone that touched him.”

Derek clenched his jaw. He felt like he should’ve expected this.

“Except,” the Sheriff said, and Derek looked up in surprise. The Sheriff was looking at him gently. “I know you’d do anything to protect him. Don’t think I haven’t gotten calls from my neighbors about a suspicious leather-wearing man standing guard outside of my house every other night. Well, until recently, that is.”

“Stiles shot me with a nerf gun,” Derek muttered. “He said I wasn’t sleeping enough.”

“And he was right, but that’s not the point,” the Sheriff said. “My son has seen something in you that’s made him latch on. And unless we want a repeat of the Lydia fiasco, I’m almost scared to tell him no.”

Derek huffed softly. The Sheriff squeezed his shoulder.

“But I wouldn’t consider doing that. Because I do trust you, Derek, and I trust you would never hurt my son. Though I do have wolfsbane bullets, just as a warning.”

Derek stared at him, a bit like a deer caught in headlights again. But this time, his throat was tight for an entirely different reason. He nodded silently and the Sheriff clapped him on the back, turning toward the side door again. 

“Steaks, then?”

Derek looked at the whiteboard one more time. It was covered in lines of string, different colors going from the sticky note, to a drawing of a nerf gun, to a few glued hard candies and the words _‘sweet tooth??’_ written in red. There was also a list reading; 

_How to Train Your Local Alpha Werewolf: (to smile more)_

_1\. Compliments (bunny teeth, seriously)_

_2\. Chocolate (good for werewolves?)_

_3\. Hard Candy (not for Peter)_

_~~4\. Head pats? Belly rubs??~~ (Scott said no)_

Derek looked at it, shook his head, and chuckled. He turned and followed the Sheriff back into the house that already smelled like grilling meat. Stiles was waiting for them, eyes darting from his dad’s to Derek’s face nervously.

“Well? No mauling, manging, or death?”

“I want mashed potatoes,” the Sheriff said. “And desert.”

“Dad, I swear to god—”

“And if you even bring up the idea of salads this week, Stiles, there’s always the chance I’ll lose my cool. You know what a low-fat diet does to a man.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. But after a moment, he sighed and waved his dad out to the back porch, where the steaks were grilling. A wave of triumph washed off the Sheriff and he started outside, patting Stiles on the shoulder as he passed.

Stiles looked nervously back at Derek. His teeth worried his bottom lip. “Der? You’re being quiet. Which isn’t the unusual but you look a little constipated and—”

Derek stepped forward and caught him in a small kiss. Stiles made a surprised noise at the back of his throat and then melted into it, hands pulling Derek closer even as he managed to gasp out; “So all good things went down, I assume?”

“The belly rubs,” Derek said. “Were a good thing to cross off your list.”

Stiles barked a startled laugh. “The head pats too?”

In answer, Derek kissed him harder. And unsurprisingly, he found he was smiling the entire time, unable to stop himself. Stiles smelled like hard candy and tasted like cinnamon. It was nice; a little bit like home.

Derek didn’t stop smiling all night.

**Author's Note:**

> Super! Self! Indulgent! And I really wanted to write Stiles shooting Derek with a nerf gun. Cause that's my mindset tonight. Of course, as always, the comments and support you guys leave make me melt through the floor and I hope you all enjoy! Be safe <3


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